


The Week Like Hopscotch, Like Teapots, Like Us

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-25
Updated: 2005-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Collections: Anonymous





	The Week Like Hopscotch, Like Teapots, Like Us

It is dusty, sweltering, and smells a little strongly of ammonia. Then again, he figures that was expected.  
“So. What do you think?” Sirius ventures, searching Remus’ face for a betrayal of opinion.  
“It’s…” Remus attempts.  
“Shut up, Moony. You’re not allowed to cast cleaning charms while you’re here. Just let me enjoy it for a while.”  
Remus bites his lip before assenting, “Alright.”  
After all, Sirius’ parents would hate it.

He’s only got the week; his parents didn’t trust Sirius enough to let Remus stay longer. Not to mention over the full moon. Still it is one week of freedom before they begin their last year of school. A beginning to an ending of sorts. So he sleeps on the couch and listens to the water drip from the leaky tap and pretends this isn’t the greatest he has ever felt.

They spend hours lying about, fanning themselves with old newspapers and complaining about the muggy summer (they don’t learn cooling charms until next year, bugger that). In rare moments of energy they find themselves teaching Sirius’ owl tricks, promising it the rat that had been scurrying about the flat that the trap finally caught. Occasionally they listen to the WWN, but it seems extraneous.

Tuesday they go to the Italian place down the street to get pizza in little takeout cartons and sit on the park bench, throwing pepperoni at the swans. The prudish old ladies with their bread crumbs give them nasty looks, but they don’t care. They talk about Grindewald, because Remus has just read a book on him and Sirius’ family was among his greatest supporters, so it’s somewhat familiar ground. They watch the little girls playing hopscotch, all drawn out with sidewalk chalk and pretend for a moment that they are young. Then they go out.

First they have to dress up, and Sirius hands Remus eyeliner, and Remus gives a confused laugh. “The birds’ll love it. Trust me,” Sirius says, so Remus tries it, and has to admit, hey, it’s kind of cool.  
They don’t get spectacularly drunk, or stay out too late, but the music is loud, the barman is generous, and they forget for a moment.  
They still have to check wards before entering the flat, nothing’s safe these days, but tonight it doesn’t feel so depressing.

Wednesday night they hang halfway out the window awkwardly watching some muggle movies being projected on another building in the square. They’re not spectacular and they don't bother to find out why the public showing, but it’s better than wasting all that money at a cinema, they think. It’s less constrictive. And that’s what this place is all about. It’s not school, it’s not family, it’s not any of the shit to do with He Who Must Not Be Named (Voldemort Remus thinks defiantly). It’s about freedom, living on their own, world be damned.

Thursday they go to Diagon Alley; getting sundaes at Florean’s, the new ice cream parlour; visiting the quidditch shop; messing with various objects in the apothecary. They make fun of the foreign witches and wizards, and the group of wide-eyed goblins on their first visit. They go halfway down the road that leads to Knockturn Alley before chickening out and heading towards a different side street.  
They find the oddest shop there. Wall to wall of green teapots. They vary in size, at least, if not look. And the prices change the moment you show an interest in one. The old wizard there dresses like wizards who dress like muggles. The walls at least are different colours, if he and his pots are not.

They try muggle shops the next time. Sirius’ eyes light up when he finds a dog collar. Remus rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything. Sirius returns the favour when they wander into a shop full of useless oddments, and Remus absolutely has to buy that strobe light that won’t work at Hogwarts and his parents will ban anyways.  
They spend that night alone in the flat, just watching everything blink black and white, listening to the Pickled Mermaids, and tossing a ball back and forth across the couch. The effect of the light causes them to miss it more often then not. Remus has been hit five times, Sirius eight.

Saturday night they go to the roller park, enchanting their roller skates a little so that they balance better. The music is some god-awful muggle stuff, and there are too many people there for it to be much fun, but they skate for a while anyways. Remus grabs Sirius’ arm whenever he’s about to fall, and Sirius tries fancier moves than simply straight-lining in circles. He does fall.  
When they’re bored enough, they go off to the park again, sit on their bench, and chew their nails.  
Sirius says something like, ‘did you hear about this person.’ Someone who was having a rough go of it this summer, and then asks Remus how he would feel.  
Remus replies with, “It’s like a bridge. Well no, I mean it’s nothing…it’s like being hit by a truck.”  
“A bridge, Moony? My god, you’re losing your ability to speak. A bridge is a little far off in comparison to a truck I’d say,” Sirius says, grinning with triumph.  
“But no, it’s not like that. And it’s not like you’re on a bridge getting hit. It’s not anything. But the bridge…it’s important, don’t you see? The truck and all…that makes sense, but the bridge, it’s more important. Together. The being hit doesn’t matter without the bridge because it’s just…it’s important, you know? Because it was there first. Oh hell, I can’t explain it, but—”  
Sirius smiles faintly and says “It’s okay, Moony. I think I get it.”

Sunday simply passes, until after supper as Sirius is sitting on the edge of his bed, putting on his boots, Remus comes in and says, “Can we just…not?”  
Sirius takes off his boot and says nothing.  
“It’s the last day,” Remus mumbles, leaning against the wall, “I don’t want to go out.”  
“Me neither,” Sirius replies, and gets up.  
Remus wanders over, meeting Sirius’ eyes and saying, “Feels a bit like bridges, eh?”  
The look in Sirius’ eye has something more to it as he says (in a voice that sounds like he knows he’s going to do something that will probably go to hell in about two seconds), “Not at all.”  
There is a tentative hand on Remus’ hip, and words fade away.

It’s Monday morning as Remus wakes up, head resting along Sirius’ neck, limbs hopelessly tangled. He pulls back a bit, but not out of the hold of the arm around him. He rests his head on the pillow, looking directly at the grey eyes staring.  
“You have to go today.”  
“Yeah.”  
“But you’ll be back once the school year’s over. I mean, you’ll live with me?”  
Remus pauses for a moment, before answering with, “Yeah, ’course I will.”

The secluded week seems to fade to grey as Remus sits in his room, unpacking the clothes he had brought, but he won’t forget those last moments of lying there, Sirius’ fingers whispering gently over his cheek.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Annabel and Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216077) by Anonymous 




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